


Part V: Ante Diem Rationis

by Fox



Series: Missa Discriminis [6]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-12-07
Updated: 2000-12-07
Packaged: 2017-10-02 16:59:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox/pseuds/Fox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I am not now, nor have I ever been, George Lucas.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Part V: Ante Diem Rationis

**Author's Note:**

> I am not now, nor have I ever been, George Lucas.

For all most padawans eagerly anticipated their trials and subsequent knighting, Anakin Skywalker was puzzled to find himself ambivalent on the subject of his own. He would be glad to assume the rank and responsibility of a knight, of course, and was confident of his readiness to do so, but at the same time he realized he was a bit reluctant to leave the known quantity that was life as Qui-Gon Jinn's padawan. For the past fifteen years, no matter what chaos life threw at him -- and it did -- there had always been his master, wise and strong, and Obi-Wan Kenobi, solid and brave. Before that, throughout his tumultuous childhood, he had always had his mother, patient and sure. Now, faced with the prospect of complete self-reliance, Anakin was anxious. It wasn't that he was _dependent_ on Master Jinn and Obi-Wan, he reasoned, but that he was _comfortable_ with them -- and what person would choose to leave a comfortable home and life for one that might be nothing of the sort?

Well, everyone who had any hope of being a Jedi, for a start. Anakin set the low table on the sofa to give himself more floor space in the apartment. Granted, the choice to entrust a child to the Jedi was made by the parents, before the child could make an informed choice; but teenagers going as padawans made such decisions all the time. Anakin wondered, not for the first time, what the Jedi would do if an adult Force-sensitive appeared at the temple and wanted to be trained -- someone who had never been brought in as a child. There had been enough question about his own training, at the age of nine -- what would befall a grown man in that situation?

Everyone who got married made that choice as well, Anakin realized, and he had no doubts about his willingness to do that. The hesitation over the knighting must just be nerves. He pushed the dining-table into a corner and stacked half the chairs upside-down on top of the others. He could remember the exact day he'd met Amidala. It was the day before Boonta Eve, and she and Qui-Gon had come into Watto's shop with Jar Jar and R2-D2. Watto had called him out of the back to mind the room while he showed Qui-Gon some parts, but by that time Anakin hadn't been listening -- he'd been looking curiously at the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. He'd known she wasn't local -- they'd said so, and the fact that they were trying to buy a hyperdrive would also have tipped him off, but he could have figured it out just by looking at her. She was dressed right, but she had a smile in her eyes that, had she lived on Tatooine, would long ago have been scoured from her face by the wind and the sand and the depression. He'd asked her if she was an angel, and she'd laughed, and the sound of that laugh had called to him like a song. She'd also called him a funny little boy, but by then he didn't care. She _was_ an angel, and he adored her.

Over the years, whenever he'd needed to summon an image of Amidala to his mind, he'd always begun with that sweet laughter. It soothed the ache of missing her, when they were so often apart for so long. And now she was going to be his wife. His bondmate. Either, both, it didn't matter. Anakin was occasionally incredulous of his own good fortune. He was a slave child from a desert wasteland of a Hutt-controlled planet on the far Outer Rim; she was the queen of a gracious and triumphant people. "No," Obi-Wan often reminded him, "you are the extremely capable student of one of the best Masters in the Jedi Order, and one of three heirs to his greatness."

"You are a good-looking young man of astonishing courage and skill," Qui-Gon would add.

"Perhaps it is Amidala who should wonder if she's worthy of you." The knight's impish grin, unchanged since he was where Anakin now stood, always cheered him.

He didn't know what his trials would be. Everyone had been very tight-lipped on that point. Perhaps that was part of the challenge. He only knew that it was a shade more than four cycles until the date that his master had recommended that he stand them. He shrugged off his shirt and kicked off his shoes, tucking his under-shirt into his leggings and rolling the cuffs up to his knees. He had no idea how soon after his trials he could expect to be knighted, presuming he passed. And the only fixed date for his wedding was the day after his knighting. Fortunately, there was very little to plan. Amidala had been voted into the senate by a people who had loved her as their queen, so she was around the corner rather than several weeks' travel away. Her friends, family, and advisors were, with few exceptions, within a day's flight from Coruscant. Qui-Gon had agreed to officiate, Obi-Wan and Sionnach were standing for them, and as many Jedi as cared to would drop what they were doing and attend. It was just a matter of when.

Anakin had been delighted when Amidala had been seated in the senate. There were those who had argued that admitting her would over-represent Naboo, since the chancellor was originally a senator from that system, but Amidala had taken the opposite view: Palpatine, as chancellor, represented no individual system. His constituency was the galaxy as a whole, and therefore since his election Naboo had in fact been under-represented. Palpatine had, everyone noticed, avoided involving himself in that argument -- hedging his bets, very likely, so that he could never appear to have supported whichever side ended up losing. Palpatine was nothing if not shrewd. Anakin lay on his back on the floor, arms over his head, and lifted his legs and body until he had rolled up into a shoulder-stand; carefully, he bent his arms, placed his hands next to his shoulders, and pushed up into a handstand. The senate had deadlocked on the issue, and appealed to the courts to settle it, and -- in a remarkable display of decisiveness -- the High Court had voted eight to two (with one abstention) in favor of the idea that a chancellor no longer represented his home system. The Palpatine Proposition, as it had come to be called, carried; it was ordered that no system should be deprived of representation due to the promotion of one of its representatives to higher office; Naboo reclaimed its senate seat; and Amidala was elected, installed, and confirmed. Only then did Palpatine concede that that was the outcome he'd been hoping for all along. (Many people, Anakin included, believed that the chancellor would have said the same about either result.)

What Amidala hadn't told the chancellor was that she'd wanted to be a senator so she could oppose him on the trade issue. Anakin lifted his right hand off the floor and tucked it into the small of his back. Government-regulated -- or, more accurately, government-monopolized -- trade was causing everyone trouble these days, trouble of which Chancellor Palpatine seemed to be entirely unaware. It was undeniably true that under the new system, all areas got the same service at the same price. To accomplish this, the senate had increased taxes galaxy-wide with one stroke, and instituted a relatively simple, if ridiculous, schedule of fees and tariffs. The practical upshot was that everyone got the same bad service at the same high price, and citizens who had been accustomed to no service were glad -- but citizens who had been accustomed to good service at a low price were, to put it mildly, not.

In a few notable cases, like Bakura and Malastare, the Trans-Galactic Shipping Commission was far superior to what the people had had before. Still standing on his left hand, Anakin leaned his feet to the right and slowly rotated his body toward a horizontal position. Other worlds, though, were unhappy -- ranging from dissatisfied to outright furious. Most felt that, as they had voted the service into existence, they couldn't very well oppose it now; many, however, felt no such compunction, and railed daily about the impracticality and injustice of the chancellor's system.

The chime rang, and Anakin looked to the door and lost his balance, falling to the floor with a muffled grunt. "Master Jinn?" he heard a voice call from behind the door.

"One moment," he said, muttering curses as he got to his feet and shook out his shoulders. Moving to the door, he leaned against it for a moment to catch his breath before opening it to admit the visitor. "Senator Organa," he said as he bowed.

"Padawan Skywalker," the senator said, also bowing. "I hope I haven't come at a bad time. Is your master in?"

"No, not at all," Anakin said. "I mean, no, it's not a bad time, but I'm sorry, sir, my master isn't in just now."

The senator was clearly disappointed, and evidently a little concerned. "I haven't been able to reach him on the commlink. When do you expect him back?"

"I'm not sure," Anakin replied, retreating to fetch his shirt. "Please, come in, make yourself comfortable. Here, let me move the table off the couch. Their commlinks are probably switched off. I think Master Jinn and Knight Kenobi have gone to the memorial garden with Padawan apVess-Norill."

"Ah, I see." Organa, fidgeting, did not take the offered seat on the couch.

"But they've been gone a while. I don't know when they'll return, but it could be quite soon. May I get you something to drink?"

"No, thank you, I don't think so," Organa said. "I have some business to discuss with Master Jinn, but I'll come back at a more convenient --"

"Senator," Obi-Wan said, suddenly arriving at the open door and reaching for Organa's hand. "What brings you here?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Knight Kenobi," the senator answered. "I'm afraid there's something going on that I'd like to discuss with the Council, if Master Jinn thinks it's a good idea. Is he with you?"

"He's right behind me -- be here any minute. Let me give you something. Tea? Have a seat."

"Thank you, no," Organa said with a smile. "That is, nothing for me, thank you, but if you're sure this isn't an inconvenient time --"

"Not a bit inconvenient for us, is it, Anakin?"

"Like I said," Anakin grinned. "If you'll excuse me, though, I'll run and change." He bowed his way out of the conversation, though he could hear snatches of it through the door to his room. Obi-Wan was urging the senator to tell him the trouble he wanted to bring to the Council, and reluctantly, Organa began to do so. Anakin couldn't hear whole sentences, but he caught bits and pieces: losing ground ... giving in ... disheartening. Obi-Wan seemed to be encouraging Organa not to abandon his cause, but the man interrupted: that's just it ... damnedest ... only a suspicion. Then Master Jinn returned; Anakin could hear his voice, deeper than the others', as he joined them. After only a moment, there was a knock at Anakin's own door.

"Ani, it's Obi-Wan. Let me in for a second?" Anakin stood aside as the knight came inside. "I had to --" -- he broke off, looking around the room slowly, a puzzled expression on his face.

"You okay?"

"It's just always a surprise. I'm never really prepared for it not to look like it did when I was in here. No reason for that, really." Obi-Wan looked around for a moment longer, then shook off the reverie. "Sorry. I just had to get away from that for a bit."

"What's going on?"

"Oh, they're talking about the senate again, it's not that. You know Organa's always running things by Qui-Gon before taking them to the Council. Saves everyone's time and energy."

"I wish more senators would do that."

"Don't we all."

"So what's the problem?"

"Did you hear when Qui-Gon came in?" Obi-Wan was pacing slightly.

"I heard that he had come in, but I haven't been listening to every word, no."

"The senator called him Qui-Gon." He was fidgeting as well, tapping his fingertips together faster than what could be called contemplatively.

"That's his name."

"What did he call you, then, the senator, when he got here?"

Anakin cast his mind back. He hadn't really been paying attention. "Padawan Skywalker, I suppose."

"Yes. And he called me Knight Kenobi."

"That doesn't --"

"You're right," Obi-Wan said. "Silly of me." He rubbed at the bridge of his nose for a moment. "I must just be on edge. Come on, are you ready? We should go back out. I don't want to leave those two alone for too long." He winked and grinned, and Anakin followed him back into the living room.

* * *

Obi-Wan sat next to Qui-Gon and grew more and more uncomfortable the longer Bail Organa spoke. The senator had detailed his and his colleagues' escalating dissatisfaction with the chancellor's Trans-Galactic Shipping Commission and its confounded system of fees. Every planet in the galaxy paid a flat shipping tax, which covered purchase and maintenance costs on the service's fleet of cargo vessels. A further tax was levied for potential fuel and human resource costs, based on the population of the planet -- in theory, a reliable predictor of the number of deliveries it would require in a given time period. The cost of every shipment was accompanied by a fee calculated as a percentage of the shipment's weight and volume. Receiving centers on each planet could only accept deliveries from the service's own ships and personnel, for reasons of security, so all shipments had to come from Coruscant or one of a few other designated "hubs;" other senders, which was practically everyone, had to pay special processing fees to cover the cost of receiving and examining and re-sending goods that were not previously certified as safe by an authorized government inspector. Between the tax, the tariff, the duty, and the customs fee, the cost of shipping was exorbitant; and with the customs and inspections and hubs and spokes and receiving centers, the speed of delivery was pitiable.

The complaints were numerous. For a start, assessing the proportional tax based on population was idiotic, as there were highly-populated and mostly self-sufficient planets who rarely imported or exported anything. Determining that tax based on past records of shipping traffic would have been far more reasonable, but the chancellor insisted that past tendencies were not reliable indicators of future events. Furthermore, the hub-and-spoke system and the receiving centers and the customs clearance were a disaster. The idea that had sold the people on it was that by having all the customs officials in one place, or at least just a few, there would be a universal standard of training and they would pay less by not having to pay as many employees in as many places. The practical result was that the local safety inspectors lost their jobs and had to find others or move elsewhere (and, curiously, the government hired fair-skinned human males out of all proportion with their percentage of the galactic population); people paid the same money, but it all went into the government coffers rather than back into their own pockets. So few planets had hub shipping centers that the government's assurance that the profits from each center would enrich the local economies was all but ignored. And somehow, because the thing was based out of Coruscant, that world paid only the flat-rate tax and the weight/volume duty; everything had to go to Coruscant anyway, the reasoning went, so charging the receivers on Coruscant the graduated tariff would have been redundant, and the customs fee applied only to senders not on a hub world. The fact that Coruscant was the most densely-populated world in the galaxy and produced nothing while importing everything was not lost on the  
Commission's detractors. They took great pains to note that the system was much more expensive for exporters than for importers. Many worlds did a fair amount of both, so the damage was approximately equal, but for every Coruscant, which exported nothing, there was an Alderaan, which imported very little. As the public officials fought the government service in the light of day, smuggling beneath the surface had become a huge industry, causing a raft of other problems in the crime-fighting and human services sectors.

Leading the opposition to the Commission were the representatives of Alderaan, Corellia, Bothawui, Kashyyyk, and Chandrila -- all worlds that had lost revenue or autonomy enough under the new system, whether due to humans taking non-humans' jobs or to the vast differential between the old profit levels and the new, to anger them into fighting it. Even Amidala had, as queen, carefully nurtured a cordial and then friendly relationship with the Gungans of Naboo, and it was her expressed opinion that she represented them as well as the humans who claimed the planet's name as their own; thus, she too opposed the chancellor's agency.

Many others had supported Organa and his cohorts in their opposition efforts, but the ranks of those supporters had been gradually dwindling, and that was what had Organa concerned enough to float the idea to Qui-Gon of approaching the Council. As Qui-Gon had noticed some time ago, a lot of people seemed to be accepting the Commission rather than expend the energy to fight it, which the opposition found distressing. Worse, those who had been merely ambivalent about the Commission were beginning to speak out loudly in its favor; the trend looked alarmingly like those opposed would soon be in an insignificant minority. This was the way of politics, of course, but Senator Organa pointed out that he knew some of those people well who had been changing their minds, and they had been unable satisfactorily to explain to him why they had done so. Finally, today, after a normally even-tempered representative from Anoat had bitten his head off -- with little provocation -- for the third time in as many days, Senator Organa had decided to consult the Jedi.

"You want to be cautious with this, Bail," Qui-Gon said. "Remember that in the political arena, appearance often counts for more than substance. You don't want to look like you're just being paranoid."

"I understand that, but what if I'm right? How much further could this go if it isn't investigated now?"

"But think carefully. It's already public knowledge that you are opposed to the Shipping Commission and thus, essentially, to the chancellor himself and all who agree with him. First of all, to whom could you appeal, and secondly, how likely would they be to take you seriously?"

"To _you,_ dammit!" the senator burst out. "That's exactly what I'm doing -- I'm appealing to you! Are you saying _you_ don't take me seriously?"

"It is an awfully loaded charge, Senator," Obi-Wan said quietly. "It would be seen as mistrust of everyone involved, however unwittingly."

"I _don't_ trust them!"

"Then why should they trust you?" Anakin spoke up. "If you believe, and say in public, that only Senator Delvin and Senator Mothma and a few others are legitimate and therefore worthy of your trust, what's to stop some other, completely innocent, senator from presuming that _you're_ part of the machine as well?"

"But we're not."

"That's what they'd say, and would you believe them?" Organa sat back, upset but quiet. Qui-Gon continued. "That's the trouble with a thing like this. It's very inflammatory and nearly impossible to prove. We, the Jedi that is, can occasionally detect fluctuations in concentration or Force-signatures, but normally you'd have to look at a tissue sample under a microscope."

"Do you believe it's possible? Will you help me?"

"I've seen too much ever to believe anything is impossible, my friend." Qui-Gon smiled sadly. Obi-Wan felt a prickle on the back of his neck, and inched closer to Qui-Gon on the sofa. "But unfortunately, a suspicion is not enough to compel us to act. I can assure you that the Council will dismiss your request for assistance. However," he said -- and Organa stopped and looked up again, mid-defeated-slump. "However, I can promise you that I will personally be vigilant, and keep your suspicion in mind. What we can do, we will."

Bail Organa sighed and got to his feet. All three Jedi rose. "Thank you, Qui-Gon," the senator said. "Perhaps I am being a trifle paranoid. But since the thought occurred to me, I haven't been able to shake it -- I'm scared." He looked up at Qui-Gon with a rueful smile, and Obi-Wan felt the prickle on his neck again. "I'll be along. Thank you again for your help -- and you, Knight Kenobi, Padawan Skywalker. I think I'm fortunate to have you all." Organa bowed to each host and saw himself out.

"You will personally be vigilant?" Obi-Wan asked Qui-Gon, when he had gone.

"Of course I will. Bail Organa isn't a frivolous man, Obi-Wan. If he thinks this is a real possibility, it merits at least some careful attention. To say nothing --" he glanced at Anakin, who was replacing the table and chairs he had moved earlier, and lowered his voice confidentially -- "to say nothing of the fact that we _know_ something is going to happen here, and soon. Or have you forgotten? If this is it, and we catch it soon enough, it might not be as catastrophic as we were anticipating."

"But why the middle ground? Either it's worth watching or it isn't -- surely the Council could find someone better suited to covert surveillance than --"

"Yoda hasn't brought it before the Council yet."

"What?!" Obi-Wan hissed.

"Not yet. I know, we all think he should, but you know how he is. Mace is going out of his mind. Shh." Qui-Gon, seeing Anakin approach, resumed speaking in a normal voice.

"So what can we do to help?" Anakin asked, taking a seat across from his master. "I mean, if we see something we think looks suspicious, what can we do without blowing the whole thing in?"

"I don't know about this 'we' stuff," Qui-Gon began.

"Don't," Obi-Wan interrupted. "Don't even think it. Nobody takes a job that risky by himself."

"I don't want to put anybody else in danger," Qui-Gon said.

"Then don't. I'll put myself in danger. We've talked about this, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan insisted, strangely more adamant than he had intended to be. "Look what happened the last time you went alone with no backup." Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. "And you know how I hate knowing and not doing, besides," Obi-Wan added.

"What happened last time he went alone with no backup?" Anakin asked.

"He came back with you," Obi-Wan said lightly, tossing a sofa pillow in Anakin's direction -- but he could feel the tightness behind his voice that he still felt, would always feel, when remembering the mission to Naboo. If he had been with Qui-Gon when the Sith attacked him on Tatooine, the thing would never have returned. If he had been closer when the energy doors cycled shut in the reactor core, it never would have gotten near enough to wound. How different things would have been if it hadn't been for Sionnach's infant attachment to them both.

Qui-Gon heard that note in Obi-Wan's voice; Obi-Wan could tell by the fractional sympathetic wrinkle of his brow. "Fair enough," said Qui-Gon. "We, then, will watch for the specific suspicious behaviors the senator mentioned, and see if they suggest to us the same conclusion he has drawn. And then if so, and if the instances increase, _we_ bring it before the Council."

"And if the Council doesn't believe us, or takes no action? It wouldn't be surprising."

"In that event, we must each do what we think is right. I have no power over you at all, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, "and none over Anakin, in this instance, to force him to defy the Council. But if I believe the situation warrants it, I shall spread the word among the Jedi and take arms myself."

"You know I'd be with you," Obi-Wan said.

"As would I, Master," Anakin agreed.

Qui-Gon nodded. "In the meantime, though, we watch. We watch everyone carefully, all the senators and all their staffs. And we don't _do_ anything until we're ready and sure. Every one of these people has a constituency that will be gravely offended at the mere implication of anything like this, never mind the actual suggestion."

All three men sat silently for several minutes. The comm buzzed; Anakin took it, and shortly afterward went to visit Amidala for dinner. Qui-Gon reached for Obi-Wan's hand and squeezed it tighter than Obi-Wan could squeeze back; he had presented a calm, serene facade to Organa and Anakin, when in fact he had been frightened nearly out of his wits by the senator's words. Obi-Wan scooted over and, without extricating his hand, wrapped his arms around Qui-Gon's shoulders and held on. "They could be everywhere," he said finally.

"Yes, they could."

"Will we all be tested for originality?"

"Eventually, perhaps."

They did not speak for several more minutes.

"I hope this isn't it," Obi-Wan said.

"So do I."

More silence.

"But I'm afraid it is."

"So am I."

**Author's Note:**

> So I was talking to Terri Hamill, in the summer of 2000, and railing about the persistent nugget of fanon in TPM that seemed to maintain that if Qui-Gon Jinn had survived, and if he had trained Anakin Skywalker, Anakin would never have turned and All This would never have happened. In the first place, of course, All This could have happened even if Anakin hadn't turned; but in the second place, as much as I like Qui-Gon Jinn, the canonization of the guy had reached truly absurd levels and was, frankly, really annoying. I determined to write something where Qui-Gon survived and Anakin turned anyway.
> 
> That was really the only goal, at the beginning. We threw some ideas around, and I decided to use the Code Breakers universe, because there were some handy-dandy ready-to-use original characters that I knew I'd find helpful. In particular, Terri's Joma Phrel really doesn't get along with Qui-Gon Jinn. She's a useful person to have around sometimes. The orphaned red-haired child, Sionnach (which, yes, it means "fox" in Gaelic -- Terri named her, and it had nothing to do with me), is good to have around to explain things to, and there's the added challenge of not making her a Precious Kidfic Darling. In general, the whole project has been an exercise in taking one or two steps from canon, moving forward for a bit, and then stepping back in line.
> 
> The title, _Missa Discriminis_, translates to English as "Critical Mass" -- I don't normally go in for puns, but I decided to consider this one a double meaning and let it go. :-) Each of the chapters has a title taken from the Requiem Mass, so the whole thing is a Mass _about_ critical mass, I suppose.
> 
> I completed the first arc in January of 2001. My plan has been to have three arcs, ultimately, finishing up at the same time as _Return of the Jedi_ ends. This is proving to be somewhat difficult, but there are plot-milestones in my head -- I haven't put this thing to rest yet.
> 
> For most of the original characters, I have good ideas of what they look like but no specific people in mind to play them. I can report, however, that Jendea Ral is played by Ms. Vanessa Redgrave. :-)


End file.
